


Bridled Hope

by imnotokaywiththerunning



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cowboys, Gen, Horses, M/M, Outlaws, Period Typical Violence, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Western, there's some OCs in this fic, tho probably not graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotokaywiththerunning/pseuds/imnotokaywiththerunning
Summary: 1882. Surrounded by desert and dust, Persistence, Texas, is your typical small town. They have farms, a saloon, a general store, and even a band of outlaws. All they're missing is an angel; a Principality, in fact. Aziraphale just wants to read his books, but on a mission from Gabriel, he's forced to step out of his bookshop and into the lawless American West.A western AU written for the Good AUmens event.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 24
Collections: Good AUmens AU Fest





	1. An Angel Goes West

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Good Aumens event. Special thanks to jomipay for the beta!

Aziraphale was hot. He was thirsty and dusty and absolutely _sick_ of the relentless sun beating down on his neck. By Heaven, but he hated deserts. He sighed. He knew, as an angel, that he was supposed to love all of the Almighty’s creations, but goodness. All this heat was a bit over the top. Granted, he had spent his first few centuries on Earth wandering deserts but he hadn’t known any better then, had he? Now what he wouldn’t give for some greenery and a _breeze._

And of course, his stupid horse had had to bolt from beneath him the first chance it got leaving him to walk across the burning sand on his own. Wretched creature. He was certainly better off without it. 

Aziraphale chanced a glance up at the sun. It was nearly at its zenith and the heat was already almost unbearable. He would need to find some type of shelter soon or he’d cook. He looked around hoping for a tree, at least. He hummed happily when he spotted one not too far off. He began to trudge towards it hoping it had the good sense _not_ to be a mirage. He regretted ever learning about those. If this tree knew what was good for it, it wouldn’t disappear on him. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” he sighed and sat down beneath a very real tree, leaning back against the very accommodating trunk. At least he would be out of the sun for a while. He closed his eyes. He’d rest here for a spell, just enough to recover the strength to face the heat once more before continuing on. A blessedly cool breeze found its way across his face. 

Aziraphale still didn’t know why he was here. Probably some joke on Gabriel’s part, he thought unkindly. He had been unnaturally giddy when he’d delivered this assignment. And vague. He’d said something about Aziraphale knowing what the Almighty wanted him to do when he saw it. Aziraphale just had to make his way to the American West and trust in Her plan. Aziraphale scowled and the memory of Gabriel’s smug face. He missed his books. He missed London. He missed--

An ominous click sounded inches from his face. His eyes flew open only to cross as his vision centered on the barrel of a rifle pointed directly at his nose. 

“Don’t move, mister.”

Aziraphale followed the muzzle of the gun up and into the small face of a child. She was glaring a storm at him, steadily holding up a rifle that was much too big for her. A wide-brimmed hat sat precariously atop her head, seemingly held on by sheer force of will. 

“What are you doing on my daddy’s farm?”

Aziraphale frowned as disapprovingly as one could staring down the wrong end of a gun. “Well, my dear girl, I didn’t know I was on your daddy’s farm. I’m quite lost, you see.”

The young girl’s face scrunched up in confusion. The gun lowered a fraction which Aziraphale took as a small victory. “Why do you sound so weird?”

“Really, my dear,” Aziraphale huffed, playing up his distinctly British accent, hoping he could put her at ease and lessen his chances of being discorporated. He never had been very good with children. That was Crowley’s area of expertise. “ _I’m_ not the one who ‘sounds weird’ in this conversation.”

A small smile fought its way onto the girl’s face. Aziraphale smiled gently back at her and dared to raise a hand to place on the barrel of the gun. Ever so gently, he pushed until the gun was no longer pointed at him. His smile widened. “I’m Aziraphale. What’s your name?”

“What kind of stupid name is Aziraphale?” she asked rudely. 

Aziraphale stared at her in shock for a moment before laughing loudly. “My Mother gave it to me. You’d have to ask Her.”

She frowned at Aziraphale’s mirth.“My Mama told me not to tell strangers my name,” she declared. 

“Very good advice,” Aziraphale nodded, smothering his grin. “But perhaps you can help me find my way. I’m looking for a town called Persistence.”

“Are you the new sheriff?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Pardon?”

“The new sheriff,” the young girl continued, eyeing him shrewdly. “The last one died last week, and Mayor Smith said they were gonna send us a new one.”

Aziraphale was taken aback by the hope he saw flare in her eyes. He looked her up and down again, taking in her bedraggled appearance. Her dress was clean but threadbare. Her face lined with too much worry for a child to bear. Aziraphale studied her and he made a decision.

“So we are in Persistence, then?”

“It’s just over the river,” she said pointing west. “Our farmhouse is over there.” 

“Well, then,” Aziraphale said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’d better get a move on. Thank you for your help, young lady.”

The young girl eyed Aziraphale from his bowler hat to his dusty shoes. She didn’t seem very impressed with his light-colored suit. She held out her hand. “My name’s Lucy.” Aziraphale took her surprisingly strong grip in his. “If I introduce myself, we’re not strangers. Come on.” 

Lucy didn’t wait for Aziraphale but turned to walk in the direction of her farmhouse. Aziraphale followed dutifully behind. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve got to tell my mama where I’m going.”

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale asked stupidly. 

“I’ve gotta take you into town,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes. “Without me, you’d probably just get lost again.”

A small two-story farmhouse came into view. Its whitewashed walls made it stand out in the muted browns of the surrounding desert. Aziraphale wasn’t so sure that he should go to this house before he found the town. “I’m quite sure, I’ll be able to find my own way, thank you,” he began to protest. 

“Lucy Thompson! What have I told you about taking your father’s gun?” A harried woman stepped out of the front door, wiping her hands on a towel, but froze when she saw Aziraphale. She motioned for Lucy to join her on the front porch as she glared at Aziraphale with the same vehemence as her daughter had earlier. “Who’s this?”

Aziraphale smiled non threateningly at her, making himself seem as innocuous as possible. He could feel the distrust swimming around her. “I’m Aziraphale, uh, Fell.” He cringed. He should really think of a better name for humans, but he’d already told Lucy his real name. Aziraphale Fell would have to do. 

“He’s the new sheriff,” Lucy supplied helpfully.

“I was sent here to help,” Aziraphale interjected. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be a sheriff or even if that was what he was meant to do. Until then, he’d rather not have people making assumptions he wasn’t willing to keep. “I didn’t know that you needed a sheriff, truthfully.”

Lucy’s mother looked him up and down shrewdly, seemingly coming to a conclusion much different than her daughter’s. “Well, you don’t look much like a sheriff, sure enough.” She narrowed her eyes. “What, exactly were you sent to help with?”

Lucy’s mother was not one easily coddled, Aziraphale realized. He wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of her bad books, not without a miracle. And Gabriel had been adamant that he use those sparingly. He sighed and decided the truth was his best option. He smiled self-deprecatingly. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest. I was told I would know when I found it.”

“What are you? Some kind of preacher?”

“Goodness, no!” Aziraphale chuckled nervously. “I just need to get to Persistence, dear lady.”

“Well, that’s over the river,” she pointed. “About three miles.”

Hoofbeats sounded on the ground accompanied by whoops and yells. The noise sent Lucy scurrying behind her mother. Aziraphale watched with a frown as a group of riders encircled him, jeering and hissing. They each held a gun of some sort, held threateningly aloft. He pulled himself up to his full height, looking down his nose at them disapprovingly. “Barbarians,” he sniffed. 

“What did you say?” One of the riders snarled and placed his rifle directly between Aziraphale’s eyes. He glared up at the man. After having one gun pointed at his head today, this one was just an annoyance. 

“Leave him alone!”

Aziraphale gasped as Lucy ran down from the porch with her mother, slipping between horses to stand in front of him. He pulled her behind him quickly, pushing the gun still pointed at him more firmly into his forehead. Aziraphale kept a firm grip on the squirming girl, silently willing her to stay quiet. This was turning out to be an incredibly tense situation very quickly and he didn’t want the girl to be hurt. 

“Well, well, well,” the man with the gun said. He appeared to be the ringleader of these ruffians and Aziraphale was trying very hard not to dislike him. The man raked his gaze over Aziraphale appraisingly, sending an unpleasant shiver slithering down his spine. He turned to Lucy’s mother with a laugh. “Your new man don't seem like much, Mary. Where’d you even find such a soft old codger?”

Lucy’s mother, Mary, scowled at the ringleader. She had a tight grip on the shotgun she had taken from Lucy earlier but kept it carefully pointed to the ground. Aziraphale could feel the anger rolling off her in waves. He hoped she didn’t do anything drastic. He really didn’t want to be discorporated before he even made it to Persistence. He’d never hear the end of it from Gabriel.

“He’s not my man,” Mary finally gritted out. She turned her glare on Aziraphale as if this was all his fault. “He’s just lost.”

“Oh, so we’ve got ourselves a greenhorn, boys!” he laughed to the other men who joined in with cheers. He swung down from his horse, landing gracefully on his feet. He holstered his gun and doffed his hat with an exaggerated bow. “We got off on the wrong foot, mister. The name’s Willy Jones and this here’s my gang.” He swept his arms wide gesturing around to the others still on horseback.

Aziraphale sniffed. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Willy’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he heard Aziraphale speak. “You’re far from home, ain’t ya?” he guffawed. “What’s sent you way out here to little old Persistence?”

“Apparently, I’m to be the new sheriff,” Aziraphale drawled, ignoring the frantic head shake from Mary. 

Willy’s eyes hardened into a cold stare. He leaned menacingly into Aziraphale’s face, growling. “You should know that this is my town,” his lip curled in disgust, “Sheriff. We ain’t got no need for a lawman here.”

Aziraphale raised a lazy eyebrow. “Is that so?” He let his gaze travel slowly over the group of riders with disdain. He paused on a rather skinny rider in black clothes and sunglasses who looked worryingly familiar. “Then, I suppose that will make my job easier, won’t it? If there’s no crime for me to thwart.”

Willy glared at him, and Aziraphale met his gaze with a flinty stare of his own. Willy flinched first, breaking away to spit on Aziraphale’s shoes before swinging himself back into his saddle. “Don’t forget what we’re owed, Mary. I’ll be back once you rid yourself of this milksop.”

Willy shot one last cold glare at Aziraphale and then spurred his horse into a gallop away from the farm and towards the town. His lackeys followed, jeering at Aziraphale as they passed. Aziraphale watched them go.

“That was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid,” Mary said once the dust had settled. She looked at Aziraphale with an odd mixture of awe and distrust. She leaned the shotgun against the side of the house and sighed. “Well, make yourself useful, Mr. Fell, and hitch the wagon. Since you’re to be the new sheriff, we might as well take you into town.” She looked him up and down once again and shook her head. “Just to make sure you don’t get lost again.”


	2. A New Sheriff in Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I messed up posting this chapter the first time and left out the entire first part. So that's fixed now. Enjoy all of chapter 2 now!

The drive into town would have been excruciatingly painful if not for Lucy’s constant chatter. Mary Thompson did not like Aziraphale and she was doing very little to hide it. She sat beside him on the buckboard with her young son, James, on her lap, staring out over the road in silence. The few times Aziraphale had tried to draw her into the conversation had garnered him a flinty stare in return. It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. He realized he was a strange man who had unexpectedly shown up at her door, but he was an angel. Most humans tended to gravitate towards him for that very reason. But Mrs. Thompson was not one of those humans. 

“My daddy bought Whistle for me,” Lucy prattled, pointing to the red mare on the left of the team. Whistle hadn’t liked Aziraphale either when he had gone to hitch the team to the wagon. He was beginning to sense a theme. “He was gonna teach me how to ride.”

“Oh that’s lovely,” Aziraphale said distractedly. “Is he going to do that when he comes back?”

“He’s not coming back,” Mrs.Thompson said flatly. “He’s dead.”

Whistle and her companion whinnied in irritation at Azirahale’s surprised jerk of the reins. Lucy ceased her chatter as an awful silence fell over the wagon broken only by the occasional babble from young James. Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale saw the small wobble of Mary Thompson’s lip. Of course. She was a widow. How had he missed such a thing?

“I’m truly sorry,” he said softly. Mrs. Thompson nodded but said nothing else. Aziraphale missed Lucy’s chatter now that quiet was only broken by the creaking of the wagon and the soft thud of horse hooves on the road. He tried to think of something to break the tension when he remembered Willy Jones’ parting jab. He turned to Mrs. Thompson. “What did Mr. Jones mean by ‘Don't forget what we’re owed?’”

It was Mrs. Thompson’s turn to jerk in surprise. She stared at Aziraphale with wide eyes. “You really don’t know what’s going on, do you?” she asked disbelievingly. 

“I thought I’d made that very clear, dear lady,” he huffed. How many times does an angel have to say they don’t know something before someone gets it?

“Huh,” Mary said bewildered. She looked at Aziraphale with a new found sympathy. “Whoever sent you here must not like you very much. Especially to send you in blind like this.”

Aziraphale frowned. Of course, Gabriel liked him. They were angels.“Why do you say that?”

“Only that lawmen rarely last long in this town, and the ones that do are usually more prepared.” She bit her lip. “What do you know about Persistence, Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale chewed over what little information Gabriel had given him about this assignment. He wasn’t sure if telling this human that he was virtually clueless was such a good idea. Especially if this town was in as much trouble as she was implying. But, despite her prickly nature, Mary Thompson’s heart was good. Aziraphale could feel it. Perhaps placing a bit of his own trust in this human wouldn’t go amiss. 

“I was told that there was a need in this town and that I could help fill it.” He glanced over at her as he finished and she met his eye. 

“You’re right there is a need in this town, Mr. Fell,” she began slowly. “But I’m not sure there’s much an outsider could do to help.”

Aziraphale felt her words settle in his stomach like lead. “Tell me what the problem is, and I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

Aziraphale had thought himself prepared for his first glimpse of Persistence. He had been wrong. It was midday, and the streets were deserted. All the buildings had shut their doors. An uneasy quiet lingered in the air like dust after a storm. The whole place had that spooky feeling that sends shivers creeping down one’s spine. 

“Is it always like this after a visit from Mr. Jones?”

“Usually,” Mary Thompson said quietly. “People tend to lick their wounds in private around here.”

Aziraphale nodded. He supposed if anyone ever swindled _him_ for money, he’d be rather embarrassed himself. After Mary’s story and seeing what had become of this town, he was beginning to see why he’d been sent here. Persistence was almost completely devoid of hope. Its absence left a gaping wound in its wake, bleeding out into the community that was barely holding it together. 

According to Mary, Persistence had been playing “host” to Willy Jones and his gang for years now. Willy had shown up and offered protection from outlaws if only the townspeople would pay him a small fee. The town had refused and the next night, the jailhouse had been attacked, killing the sheriff and, conveniently, any others who had been vocal in their distrust of Willy Jones’s gang. 

That had been three years ago, and Willy hadn’t seen fit to leave and the townspeople had been under his thumb ever since. Those three years had seen most people leaving the town except for those who couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. 

“Stop here,” Mary instructed, pointing to a blacksmith attached to a stable. “The jail is just past the general store. You’ll want to stop there first. Clarence Smith is our mayor and he’ll want to meet you.” She shot Aziraphale a rueful grin. “Clarence is a bit of an odd duck, but he means well.”

“Odd? More like plumb crazy,” Lucy laughed as she jumped down from the bed of the wagon.

“Lucy Thompson, I’ve taught you better than that!”

Lucy bowed her head, chagrined. “Sorry, Mama.”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know where you hear such things.” She handed James to Aziraphale to hold while she stepped down from the wagon. Aziraphale held him as gently as he could away from his body. The baby stared at Aziraphale in wonder. He was merely thankful that the babe hadn’t started wailing. Babies had a tendency to do that with him. Crowley liked to tease him about it. 

“I’ll just go see Mr. Smith, shall I?” Aziraphale said, eagerly handing Mary back her son. He pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his hands of the ever-present stickiness of young humans. He looked around to make sure that he’d remembered to tie the horses to the hitch. A wave of anxiety had settled over him suddenly. “You’ll be fine from here?”

Mary suppressed a grin. “We’ll be all right, Mr. Fell. You’d best see to your new job.”

“Right. Of course. Yes.” He mumbled, eyes darting around the deserted town. Even with Mrs. Thompson’s assurance that the town was always like this after a visit from the gang of outlaws, something felt off. It was like the very streets themselves held onto a terrible menace waiting for an unsuspecting angel to let down his guard. Before he could voice his concerns, Mrs. Thompson and her children had vanished into the blacksmith’s.

Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat to straighten it and checked his bowtie. He scanned the mainstreet once more before setting off to find the general store. 

The town wasn’t as deserted as it had seemed when he’d first entered. The saloon seemed to be doing quite good business if the loud piano music coming from inside was anything to go by. The bank seemed well built though he took notice of the heavy iron bars covering the windows. There was even a haberdashery. At the far end of the main street stood a white chapel church. 

The general store was very nearly in the middle of the small town. It was by far the most ostentatious. Greek-style columns lined the walkway outside it whereas simple wooden posts had been used throughout the rest of town. The building itself was painted a bright robin’s egg blue and the door boasted an ornate stained glass window. Aziraphale didn’t know what Mrs. Thompson had meant by calling Mr. Smith an odd duck. The man merely had style. 

A bell jingled merrily overhead as he pushed open the door, reminding Aziraphale fondly of his own bookshop back in London. That was where the comparison ended. Whereas Aziraphale’s shop was a hodgepodge of shelves and tables filled to the brim with books seemingly arranged as randomly as possible, Mr. Smith’s store was a neatly organized operation. Everything had its place and the place was spotless. Aziraphale couldn’t help but admire the clean lines of products lined up all in a row. For a moment he thought he might do well to copy Mr. Smith’s shop floor, but the ring of the cash register soon brought him back to himself. Just the thought of being separated from one of his books was enough to send a chill running down his spine. 

“Hello!” Aziraphale said, shaking himself from the momentary horror of book sales to smile at the slight man behind the counter. “I’m looking for a Mr. Clarence Smith?”

Upon closer inspection, the man was a wiry thing, short in stature and build. He was clad in a suit that almost rivaled Aziraphale’s for its impracticality. His eyes narrowed at Aziraphale’s inquiry, clearly trying to size him up as a threat or a mark. He pasted on a slimy smile that did nothing to hide the distrust in his eyes. “Might I inquire who is asking, good sir?”

“Oh, of course! How silly of me!” Aziraphale chuckled. “My name is Aziraphale Fell and I’m to be the new sheriff.”

The man, who could only be Mr. Smith, gasped in shock, his face falling slack. His eyes swept over Aziraphale again before he burst into laughter. “Is this some sort of joke?”

Aziraphale generally thought himself a patient being; patience being a virtue and angels being inherently virtuous, but he had had a very long day. And if some slack couldn’t be given after one had spent nearly three days lost in a desert only to be apprehended by a child and _then_ to be accosted by a group of angry outlaws, when could slack be given? And if he used just a smidgen of his God-given angelic persuasion on Mr. Smith, who was to know?

He drew himself to his not-inconsiderable full height, eyes hardening into a flinty glare in the face of this man’s laughter. Aziraphale was a Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden and this man thought him incapable of running such a small town as Persistence? He let out a small amount of his Grace to cause the building to shift slightly and the lights to flutter. 

Mr. Smith’s smile died on his face. He swallowed. “Um, you said your name was Mr. Fell?” he stammered, face pale and eyes wide behind his spectacles.

Aziraphale smiled in satisfaction. An awed human was much easier to deal with. “Yes. I did. Although I suppose you can call me Sheriff Fell, now, if you’d be so kind.”

“O-of course,” Mr. Smith stammered, scrambling out from behind the counter to offer his hand to Aziraphale. “My apologies, Sheriff Fell. Only you’re not exactly what we were expecting, but we are happy to have you here in Persistence!” he added hastily at Aziraphale’s raised eyebrow. 

“I’m sure you are,” Aziraphale smiled. He’d made his point. There was no need to belabor it. “It’s a pleasure, Mr...Smith?”

“Oh yes! Of course! Clarence Smith, at your service!” Mr. Smith piped cheerfully. He hooked his thumbs behind the lapels of his jacket and puffed up proudly. “I’m the mayor of our little town, but Mr. Smith will do just fine.”

He spun on his heel to return behind the counter and began rummaging beneath it. Aziraphale took the time to peruse the shelf of candy over the top of Mr. Smith’s back. He had quite the display set up. Aziraphale noticed he carried black licorice, which Crowley claimed to be his favorite, and lemon drops, which Azirapahle knew to be Crowley’s actual favorite. Aziraphale was tempted to buy a bit of both to test his theory the next time he saw Crowley. 

“Here we are!” A large set of iron keys were set delicately on the countertop. Mr. Smith smiled and pushed them to Aziraphale. “The keys to the jail.”

Aziraphale stared at the keys, hesitant to pick them up. He knew he was being ridiculous, but the moment felt...momentous. If he took possession of these keys, he would officially be taking the job of sheriff. There would be no turning back. 

He took the keys. Clarence Smith grinned toothily. 

“The jailhouse is just down the street. Would you like me to take you there?”

Aziraphale shook himself out of his contemplation of what he’d just done and focused back on Mr. Smith. “No, thank you. I think I can find it on my own.”

“As you wish!” Mr. Smith called cheerily, ushering Aziraphale to the door. “If you need anything don’t hesitate to let me know.” 

“Actually,” Aziraphale began, slowing his steps to a stop at the door. He turned back to Mr. Smith. “What do you know of this Willy Jones figure?”

The color drained from Mr. Smith’s face and he started pushing Aziraphale more forcefully towards the door. “I’ve never heard of that name, thank you. Welcome to Persistence, Sheriff Fell! Have a nice day!”

Aziraphale found himself staring at the closed door of the general store as the closed sign was flipped and the lock snapped into place. He huffed at Mr. Smith’s rudeness. It had only been a simple question. 

“Did you talk to Mr. Smith?”

Aziraphale jumped at Lucy’s sudden appearance, placing a hand over his chest to calm his rapidly beating heart. “Goodness, my dear! You gave me quite the fright!”

“Sorry, Mr. Fell,” Lucy said, not looking sorry at all. “Did he give you the keys to the jailhouse yet?”

“Yes, I believe he did,” Aziraphale said slowly. He looked around for Mrs. Thompson. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the blacksmith with your mother?” 

Lucy shrugged, scuffing her boots on the floor. “She said it was all right to come help you.”

Aziraphale raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Did she?” Lucy would not meet his eye, but he decided to let it go. He’d take her back to her mother and then go on his way to find the jailhouse on his own. “Is she still at the blacksmith?”

“Yep,” Lucy said, popping the ‘p’ on the end. 

Aziraphale held back a sigh and placed a hand on her shoulder to lead her back down the street from where she’d come. “Let’s go find her, shall we--”

Lucy ducked under his arm and ran ahead of him in the opposite direction. “The jail is this way.”

“Lucy!” Aziraphale called, quickly following her down the street. This child would be the death of him, running into dangerous situations without a care for her own safety. He was going to have a strong word with her once he caught up with her. 

Aziraphale huffed to a stop beside her in front of a stone building set slightly apart from the rest of the town. He scowled down at her, readying himself for a lecture when he noticed where they were. The jailhouse was smaller than he’d imagined it to be, but the iron bars on the windows and doors denoted it for what it was. He swallowed a surge of anxiety and stepped up to the door. 

‘Well,” he said, taking out his new set of keys and placing the largest in the lock. He turned to give Lucy a cheeky wink. “Let’s make this official, shall we?”

Lucy grinned as the lock turned and Aziraphale stepped into his new home for what would be the foreseeable future. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've got 10 chapters planned out and hope to update weekly. I live on kudos and comments.  
> Say hi on tumblr at [imnotokaywiththerunning](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imnotokaywiththerunning).


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